Where Were You?
by ForbiddenDreams13
Summary: Follows the major events of the Cold War. Belarus hated America. He always claimed to be a hero, always claimed that it was his job to save people. What a liar. If he was such a hero, then were was he when she was alone and crying out to be loved? Why hadn't he been there to save her? He was no hero, only her enemy.


**Hi readers. This is my first attempt at making a pairing fic in Hetalia. I've fallen in love with AmericaxBelarus lately**. **I find the idea of the two of them together to be absolutely adorable. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

* * *

Cold winds blew through the land, stirring up the snow drifts, making the settled white flakes swirl in a temporary dance. Aged trees groaned as their branches were swayed by the merciless, icy gusts. Overhead, slate-gray clouds surveyed the landscape. Stationary viewers, they watched the storm they had produced tear through the area, slicing apart any warmth it could find with frigid claws. Amidst the budding blizzard walked a lone figure. Tall, barrel-chested, and as pale as the snow surrounding him, the man looked as if he had been born from the blizzard, fathered by the icy gales and cradled in the voluminous banks of snow that populated his homeland. Through the growing mounds of snow, Russia trudged on. His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath. The winter air burned his nose, nipped at his lungs. He exhaled through his mouth, a medium-sized cloud evaporating seconds later. No good. No matter how much blizzard air he took in or breathed out, he still couldn't get that sour taste of contempt out of his mouth. Disgusting. It was simply disgusting. Disgusting that America dare to defy him and his plan of glory.

"Capitalist brat." Russia spat, each word dipped in venom. Yes, that free-market little upstart had had the gall to tell him that Communism was flawed, but he hadn't stopped there. America had toyed with him, peeling off his mask with selected words about how Stalin had almost killed Ukraine; a memory that Russia had tried to bury deep within the recesses of his cracked mind. Then, that child had actually agreed to battle him on his principles of government- just to prove he was right. The audacity! If only Britain had won the damn Revolution- then maybe America would be more accepting of Communism and all it had to offer.

Up ahead, a large object loomed out of the flying drifts. Obscured by snow, the only things Russia could discern were its shape and two orbs of light hovering out in front of it.

"Home already." Russia said.

As he drew closer, the structure in front of him took on more details. The two orbs of light became two lamps situated on either side of an oak door. Red brick glowed against the white backdrop of winter. Windows, with dark curtains pulled behind them, stared off into the distance, reflecting the scenery with an almost wistful look, hoping that there might be more beyond just the snow and ice. Russia smiled as he walked up the steps and opened the door. Home sweet home. Time to make plans as to how he would bring America down. He would win this war- and in record time too. The door swung shut behind him, echoing throughout the large house. Instead of taking off his coat, Russia leaned back against the door and waited.

Five...four...three...two...one...

"Ah! W-Welcome home Mr. Russia."

Lithuania. Right on time. Russia gave his subordinate a sunny smile, which only served to scare the smaller nation more. If Russia was smiling like that, then he was in a foul mood. Desperate to conceal his terror, Lithuania did the only thing he could think of: he started talking.

"So, um...how did the meeting go? I assume everyone there agreed with you right?"

Bad move Lithuania. As if to answer the terrified man's question, the air around Russia darkened, dragging the air temperature down absolute zero. Russia's smile became more innocent for every shade the room darkened. And for every degree that went down, Lithuania's shaking increased. Russia took a step towards Lithuania. Lithuania shrank back. Russia took another step, Lithuania backed away again. The blue-eyed country's thoughts scrambled around inside his head like frightened mice. _I don't get it, why is he so mad? I mean, that question wasn't rude, wasn't it? _Then it dawned on him. _Oh crap! I unknowingly touched a nerve! Way to go Lithuania, and you always accuse Latvia of being spacey, you should know how to read the atmosphere. You've been here how long?! _A sudden force against Lithuania's back brought the self-berating up short. No, he couldn't be against a wall. Terror, alive and working over-time, shook every fiber of the Baltic State's body. Not wanting to, he looked over his shoulder. The worst of his fears was confirmed. He had indeed backed himself up against a wall. Meanwhile, Russia continued to advance.

"P-Please Mr. Russia, I'm sorry! I mean, I really don't know what I said but I-"

"Big Brother, you're home!"

Saved by Belarus. Never before in his life had Lithuania been so happy to hear her voice. Russia turned away, giving Lithuania time to disappear from the crazed country's sight. Belarus stood in the adjacent hallway, prim, and proper in her navy blue dress and bow, hands clasped in front of her, and posture straight as a pole-the very essence of lady-like. She smiled upon making eye contact with her beloved big brother. From his concealed position behind the doorframe leading into the kitchen, Lithuania raised an eyebrow. Why was Russia not fleeing for his life? That smile, the atmosphere, and now his strange behavior; what the hell happened at that meeting?

Back in the entryway, Belarus strode towards her brother and took his hand in hers.

"I'm so glad you're back big brother. Now we can get married and become one." she said, raising his hand to her face and caressing the back of the gloved hand with her cheek. Instead of pulling back and tearing off down the hallway, Russia flipped his hand around and caressed her in turn. Belarus flinched, unsure of how to take this sudden reciprocation of gesture. Russia smiled. How trusting his sister was. How loyal. He closed his eyes, that smile never leaving his features.

"Belarus, how deep would you say your loyalty towards big brother runs?" he asked, running his fingers along her cheek bone.

The smaller nation blinked, stunned by such a question with such an obvious answer. "My loyalty to you runs deeper than the very oceans themselves big brother! I would sacrifice everything for you, my country, my body, even my soul. All of it, for you brother." she answered. Her eyes shone with iron-clad determination. If he was questioning her like this, then did that mean they would be wed? In the back of her mind, Belarus heard the echoes of church bells. Her mental eye misted over with images of her in a snow-white dress, standing up at the altar with her wonderful brother as a priest united them in the bonds of holy matrimony. The day had come at long last! Soon, the words of 'would you marry me' would fall past his lips, and her only response would be 'yes'.

"Bela? You in there?"

Snapped out of her reverie, Belarus looked up at her brother. She smiled. Now, he would ask her.

"Yes brother? I'm sorry for letting my mind get carried away."

"No, it's fine," Russia replied. He removed his hand from her cheek.

Belarus's eyes widened. Wait, what was he doing? Shouldn't he be proposing to her?

"I like your answer Belarus," he turned away, heading down a dimly lit corridor. "Come, there are things we must discuss."

Elation took the place of anxiety. Marriage plans! He wanted to discuss them. Belarus had to smile. Silly brother, tough on the outside, but shy deep down as always. Shoes clopping away on the hardwood, she followed Russia like the obedient girl she was. Russia suppressed a smile of his own as a cursory glance behind him revealed the Belarusian to be trailing a dutiful four steps behind. Obedient girl? More like an obedient dog. The suppressed smile began poking its way to the surface. Big brother Russia says jump, little sister Belarus doesn't even ask how high; she just does. _What a useful pawn this will make her, _Russia thought, allowing the smile to flicker on his face for a brief moment.

The two soon found themselves outside of Russia's study. Sparing his sister another glance, Russia turned the knob and stepped aside, motioning his sister to go before him. Belarus smiled at her brother, too blinded by anticipation to notice the mad glee shining in his eyes. Meanwhile, back in the entryway, Lithuania peered from what he deemed a closer, but still safe spot.

"This is weird." he murmured.

"Tell me about it. I'd like to know what's running through his head, but I'm too terrified of what I might find."

Like he'd been jabbed in the sides, Lithuania yelped, spinning around. Behind and to his right stood Estonia, observing the scene as Belarus smiled at her brother and walked into the semi-lit study. Russia followed, closing the door behind him. Estonia put a finger to his chin, mulling over the odd events, oblivious to (read: ignoring) Lithuania's ranting of how he'd almost had a heart attack. After the irate Baltic brother had calmed down, Estonia spoke to him.

"So, do you have any idea what's up? You're better at reading these things than I am."

Lithuania shook his head, "No I don't. All I know is he got back from a meeting with the former Allies and Axis, came this close to killing me," here Lithuania held up a thumb and forefinger. The two were almost pressed together. "And then Belarus showed up." Here Lithuania sighed in relief. "I've never been that happy to see her in my entire life. It was like she- oh heck who am I kidding? She _did _save me back there."

Estonia raised an eyebrow at the goofy smile etching its way onto his brother's face, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he turned his eyes back down the corridor, focusing on the door that led into the study. An ominous air seeped out from underneath that door. It leeched down the hall, covering everything in an almost visible, heavy anxiety. Estonia was certain that if he concentrated hard enough, he would be able to see it dripping down the walls. Such a horrid atmosphere. _And Belarus is in there with him, right now. How can she be in there? No, more importantly, __**why **__can she not sense it? _He wondered. Estonia sighed and turned away. Stuck in a dark house with a crazy master and his even crazier sister. He spared the closed door one last glance before continuing on. Out of the corner of his eye, Lithuania watched Estonia depart. Echoing his brother's sentiments, Lithuania turned as well, and began heading for the kitchen.

Belarus folded her hands in her lap, mentally on cloud nine. Russia meanwhile, took a seat across the wide oak desk and placed his hands upon the wooden surface.

"Now, about what I wanted to discuss with you. You see, I-"

"You don't have to say anything Brother. My hand is already yours."

Russia blinked. "Um...what? Sorry, but that's not why I had you come in here."

Belarus narrowed her eyes. Icy hatred seeped from her being, engulfing the room in a grip colder than the blizzard raging outside. In her lap, her right hand clenched into a shaking fist.

"Why?" she hissed. Russia glanced around her, trying to conceal his growing fear. Belarus slammed her palms down on the desk, leaning over the polished surface. "Why do you always refuse me?! It's a simple decision to make! It's the only thing I've ever wanted!"

The last seven words reverberated throughout the room, bouncing off the various bookcases. Exerting every ounce of willpower he had so that he would not run, he made himself meet his sister's gaze. Cobalt fire blazed with an intensity that rivaled the sun. Russia made a cursory glance of his sister's whole demeanor before speaking. Her rage and hurt were evident in almost every aspect of her body. Her lips were pressed so close together, they resembled nothing more than a pink-white line, her arms trembled slightly with the amount of force she was still exuding, and if Russia was willing to bet, he would have said that those strange noises he heard were the sounds of the wood being torn up by Belarus's nails. Never before had she been so angry, and never before had Russia been more terrified of the female nation...but could this work in his favor?

He had just sat himself down to what could prove to be a difficult chess game. One wrong move would spell the end of everything. His pawns were unreliable and weak at best. He possessed no rooks, knights, or bishops to speak of, so the only useful piece he had left in his arsenal was the queen. A lethal piece, she could move almost anywhere in any direction she pleased, and she existed for only two reasons: to take out any enemy pieces, and to protect the king at all costs. A valuable piece, vital to the player when in use, but advantageous to the enemy when removed from the game. Russia studied his sister once more. No, he could not lose his queen, not until he knew how the odds were stacked. He folded his hands on the desk and smiled.

"Well, sister, sit back down and let me finish."

Belarus intensified her glare, but complied with the order. With a rigid posture and a face of stone, she folded her hands in her lap.

"Very well." she growled.

Russia smiled. "Good then. Alright, as you know, there was an after-war meeting today between my former allies and the Axis; and as you also know, I have been planning to spread Communism world-wide. Well, let's just say that a little someone decided to throw a monkey-wrench into my finely tuned machine."

Her rage over Russia rejecting her evaporated like a drop of water in the desert. And from the disappearance of the old, a new anger began to unfurl. Insidious black petals of fury spread within her mind. Someone had rejected her brother? This fool did not have much time left to live. "Who was it? I shall kill them for impeding your progress."

Before he responded, Russia once more took in the sight of his sister. She looked ready to go out and skewer the fool who had told her brother 'no'. Russia smiled. Just what he wanted. Little Belarus all fired up, and ready to charge in without a second thought as to the 'who' or 'why'.

"Well brother? Who was this idiot?" Belarus questioned, standing up and leaning over the desk once more. Blue-violet drills attempted to bore through the solid wall guarding the Russian's thoughts. Belarus leaned in closer, bringing herself centimeters from her brother's face. "Who. Was. This. Person." Each word came out drenched in venom. Smiling, Russia decided to let the cat out of the bag.

"Why who else but America?" he said smiling and spreading his hands as if the answer was obvious. Silence sank upon the two of them as Belarus digested the answer. America had stood up to her brother. America, that stupid, naive, childish, capitalist brat of a country had sworn to fight her brother. On one hand she wanted to laugh. How could someone still wet behind the ears ever hope to come out on top against a weather-beaten foe like Russia? On the other hand, fresh flames of anger spewed out from underneath the cauldron in which her rage always brewed. That fool. That insolent, disgusting, disrespectful, backwater, little fool! How dare he do such a thing! Russia was going to control the world someday, who was this pipsqueak to stand in his way? Enraged beyond all comprehension, the soviet whipped out her knife.

"Please brother, let me kill him. His dismembered corpse will make a good example for any other upstarts that wish to defy you." The steel on the blade glinted as it caught the light, accenting the bloodthirsty gleam in her eyes.

"But little sister," Russia objected, feigning concern, "America is a strong country-a superpower. If you go up against him, I'm afraid something will happen to you." He shook his head, "I can't imagine what my life would be like if I lost my only little sister."

Slightly, ever so slightly, Belarus's eyes softened. A sweet, warm smile flickered on her lips. The knife made a clacking sound as she set it on the desk.

"I appreciate your concern big brother, but please, do not worry." The loving warmth in her eyes froze as the bloodlust crept back in to her voice, "superpower or not, I will make sure he doesn't stand in your way."

"Your determination and strength warm my heart dear sister. However, I am not asking for you to kill him."

"Oh? Would you rather have me torture him?" The knife, back in her hand once more, danced across her fingers as she toyed with the hilt. Russia shook his head.

"I am requesting that you spy on him and report to me anything and everything you see."

Belarus blinked. Brother wanted her to spy on America? He didn't want that eyesore removed from his sight as quickly as possible? It didn't make any sense. Just the mere mention of the rival power was enough to make Russia seethe with barely suppressed fury. Every time America's name fell past his frozen lips, his eyes burned with rage hot enough to rival the flames of hell. So why did he not want America removed? Belarus knew she was the perfect one for the job; Russia knew she was the perfect one for the job, so why not?

Noticing the perplexed look on his sister's face, Russia began to explain, "You see, dear sister, while I loathe that brat with every fiber of my being, there would be major repercussions to face if I took him out now. The Second World War is over, and out of all those involved America has come out the least scathed. Aside from finances, and a dent in his military power which he may be able to rebuild in a short amount of time, he's more than a worthy opponent right now. If I go in blindly, he'll have me knocked out of contention in no time." Violet ocular ice chips focused on the smaller nation, "However, if I have you there to spy on him, I can monitor his progress and predict his next move before he even makes it. And once I am far enough ahead," he brought up a tightly clenched fist, "I'll crush that little capitalist underneath my boot heel."

Belarus chuckled. "I look forward to hearing him scream in agony." Stashing the knife away, she turned and walked towards the door. "I assume you'll want me inside his domain as soon as possible."

Russia nodded. Belarus grasped the knob and began to turn it. When she had cracked open the door, her brother's voice called her back.

"If you can help me defeat America Belarus, then I will marry you."

Shocked, Belarus turned away from the door. Her mouth hung agape, and her eyes ballooned out of her skull. "Do...do you mean it brother?" she asked. The question was wrapped within a quiet, timid voice. Russia smiled.

"Of course. Honor my request to help bring my enemy down, and I will honor yours to marry you."

At first Belarus didn't respond-she just stood there, staring at her brother in shock. _He will marry me if I help him to bring down America. He'll marry me and then we can finally become one. _This small drop of thought sent ripples of happiness throughout her entire being. Her face lit up, glowing with absolute joy. For the first time in years, Belarus smiled a genuine smile.

"Thank you Brother. Thank you so much," she opened the door and took a step out into the hall, "I'll be in America as soon as I can."

"Just remember to report back to me as much as possible Belarus. I could use any kind of information you can dig up."

Belarus nodded and trotted out of the room. Russia sat and watched the closed door, smiling. _I didn't even have to say jump this time, just dangle an enticing treat and she does whatever I say._ The smile broadened until it became the sickening grin worn at the meeting. Pawns? Bishops? Rooks? Knights? What use had he for those? America could send out all the forces he pleased, as long as Russia had his queen, he was invincible.

* * *

"Yes sir I understand. I already have the military bases in West Germany on high alert for any suspicious activity. I'm making sure that all of our ears in Europe are pressed to the ground. Understood. No, we will not yield. Thank you sir, goodbye."

America hung up the phone with a sigh. Out of a war and into an arms race. Fantastic, but what else could he have done? Russia planned to spread Communism all across the globe-he couldn't just sit idle and watch people fall prey to a totalitariat that wore the guise of a utopia. Rising from his desk chair, America walked out of the medium-sized office room and out into the hall. As the country that had come out of World War II the least scathed, America realized he and his people had a lot of room to talk when it came to money and opportunity, whereas those in Europe did not. Land and spirit ravaged by the massive conflict that had torn apart great sections of the continent, the glittering prize dangled by the Communist doctrine seemed too good to resist. After all, who could resist a world where class structure was obliterated, everyone was treated the same, and all their woes were taken care of by the government? A snort of contempt issued forth from America as he trotted down the stairs. _Any person with a brain in their head can see the fault of equalizing an entire populace and taking away any and all incentive, _he thought.

As he turned to go into the kitchen, a painting hanging on the far wall of the living room caught his attention. At least three feet wide, it seemed to dominate the eastern side of the room; its size dwarfing the assortment of other objects he had adorning the wall. With the light from the setting sun coming in through the window, the colors on the canvas glowed, highlighting the scene depicted. He walked towards the painting, a multitude of thoughts brimming in his mind, one in particular stood out. When his brother, Canada, had visited him, he remarked how, with the spot in which the painting had been hung, the objects hung around it (a copy of the Bill of Rights, the preamble of the Constitution, Washington's farewell address, The Gettysburg Address, etc), and the way it always seemed to catch any type of light, it seemed as if America was trying to make a statement.

Laying his fingers upon the glass that contained the painting, he thought he saw the statement Canada had seen. All around the painting hung objects, well documents really with the exception of the musket used during the Revolution, that could be linked back to the one defining time in his history that hung upon the wall: the Constitutional Convention. America's eyes roamed over the depiction. Up at the front, with the Supreme Law of the Land held in his hands, stood Washington. He looked towards the 'back' of the painting, picking out Franklin and Madison sitting a ways behind the first president. He looked over many of them in turn. John Adams, Samuel Adams, Aaron Burr, John Jay, Patrick Henry, and Thomas Paine. When his eyes settled on Jefferson, a small smile touched his lips. Next to Washington and Franklin, Jefferson had been his favorite. A quote from Jefferson rose forth from the stagnating waters of his thoughts:

"Experience hath shown, that even under the best forms of government those entrusted with power have, in time, and by slow operations, perverted it to tyranny."

During the meeting America had told Russia exactly that-that power corrupted, and Russia had refused to listen. So blinded was he by the promises and prospects set forth by a utopia that could never exist in a world where men sinned and fell short, that he neglected to realize that leaders were not angels. America took his hand away from the glass and turned his face to the window that looked out towards the setting sun.

"I'll tear that blindfold off Russia, even if I have to shoot you down to do it. You can't be ignorant and free, because you're expecting something, that in a state of civilization, was and never will be. If that man is the angel you so claim he is then I wouldn't fear that your country needs to restrain him; if all men were angels, then you wouldn't even need your current type of government, or any type for that matter.* Rest assured Russia, you're going to get a cruel awakening, and it won't come from my end. I'm just here to help you open your eyes."

* * *

Belarus tapped her foot on the carpeted floor while she waited for the hotel clerk to present her with her room key. The small, round man dug through the drawer with trembling fingers as he felt the weight of frosty eyes descend upon him. Why did this young woman have to be so terrifying? Women weren't supposed to be terrifying, they were supposed to be sweet and delicate like daises or lilies. This young lady up at the counter resembled a Siberian tiger, beautiful but vicious if approached without caution.

Finally, he spotted the number of the room she had requested. With lightning reflexes, he yanked the key out by the ring and presented it to her. The woman snatched it from him without a smile. He gulped.

"F-fourth floor, s-second door on y-your right," then as an afterthought, "have a nice stay Miss."

The smile that wound its way onto the tigress's lips was full of teeth and promised pain.

"Thank you, I will." she replied in a voice that reminded him of harsh winter gales. Terrified, the clerk simply nodded and looked down, pretending to be busy with some other work. Snorting at the idiotic man, Belarus turned and walked towards the elevator. After her discussion with Russia, she had packed her bags and hopped on the first plane to America. The sight that had greeted her when she stepped off the plane surprised the ice princess. People milled about, waving to friends and family, welcoming them with kisses and open arms. Various gift shops and food stations abounded inside the terminal. Waltzing out into the lobby, luggage in hand, she was met with the sight of hundreds of people milling around. Normally, she would have kept on walking, but something-or rather a lack of something-brought her up short. The air around her hummed with sounds, it swirled with a healthy mixture of emotions coming from the plethora of people around her. High-pitched voices, belonging to women and children, talked on and on about plans scheduled for later that day. Men smiled and laughed as they departed with their families or co-workers. These Americans, they were so...relaxed. They were eating, smiling, talking, and laughing; almost as if they did not care that her brother was on the move waiting to swallow them up.

Belarus resumed her walk through the terminal, amusing herself with the image of the laughing people begging for mercy underneath the poised iron fist that was her brother. However, as she exited the airport and looked back, she saw something that made her stop for the second time that day.

A young child, a small boy no more than three or four stood alone within a mass of people. The Slavic ice princess watched as the child's eyes darted first left, then right, then frantically back over to the left. The tot's lip began to tremble and soon he burst out into a full-blown wail. Frightened cries for his mother rang throughout the terminal. Large, shining tears rolled down the boy's face in large drops, leaving miniature puddles on the ground. Tiny body racked with sobbing, the boy plopped down on the floor, crying louder, terrified by the loss of his mother. Belarus's knuckles turned white from the degree of her grip on the handle of her bags. She wanted that boy to stop crying. _Stupid brat's acting just like I did before-_ Her mental rant was cut off as a woman's voice broke the incessant din of the child's wailing. Upon hearing the voice, the child's tears dried up. Once more, he scanned the area around him, frantically trying the find the direction from which the voice had come.

To his left, a woman clad in a red long-sleeved dress burst through a small crowd of people. When she saw her son, she ran towards him, unmindful of the stiletto heels attempting to impede her progress. The boy smiled and cried out in joy as he was swept up into his mother's arms. He buried his face in her hair and proceeded to cry softly in relief whereas his mother patted his back and murmured in a calm voice that everything was alright.

Narrowing her eyes, Belarus turned on her heel and continued walking. Seeing that had raised a fair amount of bile in the back of her throat. Stupid child, crying out for help and warmth. Stupid mother for rushing to his side and telling him it was going to be okay. Didn't that woman see she had been coddling her child by clinging to him like that? Leaving him to fend for himself for a few good minutes had been a good thing; it would teach him well about being on his own. Stupid Americans. They knew nothing of child-rearing. They knew nothing at all.

Now, sitting on the bed in her hotel room, Belarus shoved the memory out of her mind and focused her attention on her current predicament. Russia had tasked her with the job of infiltrating American soil and obtaining information. Getting into the country had been easy, all she had needed to avoid arousing suspicion was to disguise herself as an American. But now she was struck with the questions of what information she was supposed to attain and how she was supposed to go about attaining it. Russia would want military and various other forms of government information she knew, but how was she to go about acquiring such things? In the Soviet Union such baubles were either watched over with the utmost scrutiny or smothered in thick propaganda meant to confuse and disbelieve the negative. Belarus tapped a finger to her chin. What to do, what to do. After a few minutes of dead-end figuring, she rose from the bed and went for the door. If nothing else, she could at least see what walking the streets would get her.

The hallway was quiet, as was the lobby. Bright afternoon sunlight assaulted her vision as she stepped out of the dim lobby and into the packed streets of the city. People shuffled around her, intent on getting to their destination. Belarus paid them no heed, simply stepping off from the set of steps leading up to the hotel and into the living river. The street smelled of oil and exhaust while most of the people smelled of coffee and tobacco. Car horns blared at stop lights, people shouted to each other, either in hostility or by way of greeting. Turning the corner, Belarus spotted a newspaper stand. Curious, she glanced at the article headlining the newspaper:

_**Hysteria, Lies, and Propaganda, Oh My!**_

_Senator Joseph McCarthy accuses President Eisenhower and the military of harboring Communists._

Hello, what was this? Belarus bent down, squinting through the glass trying to read the article below the headline. Unfortunately, the glare form the sun hid a good portion of it from her. Frowning, she checked all around the metal box, looking for a way to get the newspaper out so she could read it. After a bit of searching, she came across a coin slot. The price being asked was twenty-five cents. Thankful that she'd not only remembered to convert her rubles to dollars, but also brought an assortment of American currency with her when she decided to go on her little outing, she slipped a quarter into the slot and picked up her newspaper. Item in hand, she glanced around, hoping to see a bench nearby where she could sit down and read. She spotted one sitting on a street corner a mere two hundred feet away from the newspaper stand. Brushing past people and glaring at those who had the gall to bump into her, Belarus walked over and took her seat on the wrought-iron bench.

Cobalt eyes scanned the words on the front page. Teeth sank into her bottom lip to prevent the Eastern European nation from exploding into laughter. How entertaining! Perhaps these Americans were not so careless at all. It seemed as if some of them were quite terrified by the glory that her brother wished to bring about to the world. Which of course brought to her mind the topic of their idiocy and audacity. She could understand the outrage of the press and American people over the accusations made by this Joseph McCarthy, but she could not understand why he, and other Americans were so afraid of Communism. What was there to be afraid of? Communism proposed a world without an upper class to take advantage of the hard-worked, under-paid lower classes that sweltered beneath it. Everyone would be entitled to the same things their neighbor had. It provided economic and material fairness for all, why did Americans treat Communism like the plague?

"Shocking story, isn't it?"

A lightning jolt of fear leapt through her body, almost making her throw the newspaper. Whipping her head around, she found the source of the voice and fixed him with a glare cold enough to freeze the very flames of hell. Much to her distress and annoyance, the man didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled and waved his hand, brown eyes glowing with amusement.

"Sorry miss, I didn't mean to scare you," he stuck out his hand, "name's Andrew."

Belarus hesitated for a bit, debating whether or not to break this young man's hand and send him screaming off the bench, but thought better of it. If she could engage an American in conversation, then maybe she could find more pieces of information. Who knew, the man before may have been some kind of military officer on his off day, just bursting at the seams with all kinds of classified information that could be bought from him by way of a sharp knife blade.

She plastered a fake smile on her face and shook his hand, "Jessica," she replied, careful not to let her Slavic accent slip. The man smiled back and Belarus congratulated herself. Staying up the whole night before her departure to practice speaking like an American had paid off! The man, Andrew, leaned back on the bench and looked up at the pale blue sky, sighing. Belarus watched the veins in his throat, wondering what it would be like to slide her knife across them. _Stupid man, if he doesn't talk soon, I'll __**make **__him talk. _He rummaged through his pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. Curious, Belarus glanced at the brand name on the pack. In bold, black print across the top was the word 'Camel'. Camel? What kind of name for cigarettes was that? Ridiculous.

Unmindful of her observations, Andrew stuck one in his mouth, took out his lighter, and lit the cigarette. The acrid smell of smoke permeated the air, almost making Belarus gag. Why did Americans have to have such filthy habits? And here she thought their inherent addiction to coffee was bad enough. Finally sensing the eyes on him, Andrew stuck the box in her direction. It took her a moment to figure out what the action meant.

Belarus shook her head, "No thank you, I don't smoke."

"Too bad," he replied, "you don't know what you're missing. Camels are the best smokes out there. Got Marlboro beat by a mile if you ask me."

"Um..." Belarus fidgeted on the bench, "you made the comment that the McCarthy story was shocking. Why is it shocking?"

"Oh, that. It's just weird y'know? I mean, I get where he's coming from, but come on! To accuse President Eisenhower of harboring Commies! I mean, are you serious? That guy's a World War II hero; the least Communist-supporting man you'll find on this good ol' soil." He looked at Belarus, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Gray, gritty smoke trailed off the end, veiling one shining eye, "You know what I mean?"

Trying to maintain her facade, Belarus nodded, "Indeed. I mean to accuse someone like a fellow senator, or a person lower on the White House totem pole I can see, but to go straight to the top and directly say that the president is hiding Communists along with the military? That man has not a brain in his head."

Andrew chuckled, "Miss, you sure said it. I guess if I dig down deep enough, I can understand why he was so paranoid."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's just that you read about what kind of government they've got over there in the Soviet Union, and how the people can't even so much as speak their minds unless they want to get carted away by Stalin. A friend of mine has a grandmother who lives in Moscow, and whenever she sends a letter out to him, she's got to make sure that every word she writes won't be considered anti-Communist sentiment, otherwise she might just be executed. I may be exaggerating, but it's what my friend told me, and it's certainly got him scared. He told me that he'd be beside himself if he ever lost that woman. Recently she's taken to encrypting her letters so she can tell him the truth of what's really going on over there. According to what she's told him, it's horrible stuff."

"Like what?" Belarus questioned. Keeping up the deceit was now harder than ever. At that moment, the tigress wanted nothing more than to unsheathe her claws and use them as bartering tools to get this woman's name and report him to her brother. How dare this woman keep secrets! How dare she harbor anything but loyalty to her brother's regime!

Andrew took the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled a cloud of smoke, "She says that more people are starving now than before the Bolshevik Revolution. Electricity and plumbing are so unreliable, it's better to keep the lights and water off most of the time. Heating's terrible too. In the most recent letter, she confessed how she's ashamed of supporting Lenin and Stalin. She wrote that if she knew then what she knew now, she would have fled the country with his mother as soon as the Revolution had started. Now she says they keep a tight regulation on who goes in and out of the country and just where they go," Andrew shook his head, "Stalin's a monster if you ask me. I mean, my God, he starved the people of Ukraine! What kind of leader does that?"

Cold fingers curled around the knife hilt stowed away beneath the pink cotton dress. This man had no right to speak of her sister. Of all people, Belarus knew exactly what Ukraine had been through; and try as she might, she would never be able to block out the memory of the glassy eyes filled with tears, or those sunken pale cheeks, or how her clothing had just hung off her as if she had been a hanger instead of a person. She remembered how Ukraine had fallen to pieces at Russia's feet, begging him to stop, crying that her people couldn't produce food if they had none to eat themselves. She had latched onto the hem of his coat with shaking, bony fingers, tears streaming down her face, pleading with him to stop for her if not for her people. That pitiful sight of once proud big sister Ukraine, on her knees weeping like a child, looking so broken and fragile never left her mind. Yes, Belarus knew best how Ukraine had suffered.

"Erm...Miss Jessica?"

Belarus snapped out of her reverie. She turned towards Andrew. "Sorry, I didn't mean to space out on you."

Andrew shook his head, "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

What? She'd been crying? Tentatively, Belarus touched her cheek, surprised when her fingertips came away wet. The ice princess stared at the glistening drops on her fingers in shock. Crying? She never cried; such things were only for weaker women!

"I guess I should have been more careful with my words," Andrew's voice cut in on her mental rant, "I'm guessing you must have known someone who died in the famine?"

Belarus's teeth began to groan from the force of her grinding them. Bastard, how dare he talk of such things! Wait...could he see through her disguise? Did he know she was Slavic? She could hear the knives strapped to her garter belt calling out to be used. She scanned the area. Damn, there were too many witnesses; someone would see something. However, if she moved quick enough (which she was perfectly capable of), she could kill him and dispose of the body before-

"Oh, wait that can't be right. You look too young to have been alive in the twenties or thirties. I mean, even though you are of Slavic descent..." He would have continued had he not noticed the ferocity and blood thirst in Belarus's eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he scooted down a bit on the bench. "Look, I'm sorry if I offended you or anything. I-"

"How can you tell?"

Andrew blinked, "I'm sorry?"

Belarus narrowed her eyes. She leaned in, bringing herself centimeters from his face. Anger rolled off Belarus in waves, the heaviest concentration emitting from her eyes which spat cobalt fire.

"How can you tell I'm Slavic?" she growled. Each word that came out of her mouth was uttered slowly and dipped in nitrogen.

Andrew blinked, clueless as to how a simple observation had sparked her rage-and shocked at how such a pretty girl could shift moods so quick. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "It's just that when you talk, I can catch a hint of a Slavic accent in your voice. Mostly in the way you pronounce your r's."

Damn! Of course she would slip up there! She cursed the English language and the young man's observation skills. Now he had to die. He had discovered she was Slavic. It was only a matter of time before he began to piece things together. Belarus's hand stole beneath her skirt. Just slit his throat quickly and quietly and then walk on as if nothing happened. If she was in luck, no one would remember seeing a young girl beside a fresh corpse.

"...but I can understand why you got so mad, I guess."

In an instant, her attention was back to him. The man withered under her stern gaze for a moment before defending his statement.

"It's just that, with the way things are right now-with the fear of Communists and everything- it's no surprise you want to keep your ethnic background secret from people. There's been an influx of Slavic people defecting from the Soviet Union in an attempt to make a better life for themselves, but they're still not very welcome over here." He stuck out his hand, "I'm very sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean it."

Belarus blinked, not sure what to be surprised at; the fact that the man was a complete idiot for not suspecting her of unscrupulous activities, or that he was the one apologizing. She decided not to think on it and took the Andrew's hand in her own, giving it a firm shake.

"It's alright. I should apologize. It was wrong of me to overreact the way I did. I'm sorry."

Andrew laughed, "Don't be. Like I said, I can understand why'd you'd get so jumpy," he glanced at his watch and cursed. "Damn, it's past four already. If I don't hurry back in the next ten minutes, my boss is gonna kill me." Andrew stood and dropped his cigarette into the pavement, snuffing it out with the heel of his shoe. . "Already groans about how I take 'too many cigarette breaks'." he grumbled. He looked back over at Belarus still sitting on the bench and inclined his head in her direction. Belarus nodded back and even put a fake smile on. Andrew smiled back, then walked back into the throng of people, jogging a bit to get through the rush.

Belarus sighed and stretched out on the bench, soaking up the afternoon sunlight. Her neck itched from the pink ribbon she was using to keep her hair back. She ran her fingers over the hem of her dress, not used to the fabric or the color. The cotton felt smooth next to the scratchy wool she normally wore while in the Soviet Union; and while she didn't mind the color of the dress she wore now, it just put her a bit out of her comfort zone. Back at home, she always wore dark colors. They looked nice, and they made her easier to spot in the snow. Belarus glanced up and observed the women walking by her, clad in all sorts of colors, striking red, pastel yellow, light, sky blue, white, some even wore pink like her. It was strange, why did Americans like bright, vibrant colors? Belarus shrugged. It was probably because they wanted to be noticed by everyone around them. It seemed to her that Americans were always craving attention one way or another.

Done with her outing, Belarus got up from the bench and began making her way back to the hotel. Maybe her brother could find some way to take advantage of the paranoia gripping the American people.

* * *

***America's paraphrasing a quote from James Madison.**

** This was originally intended to be a oneshot. As you can see, I had to abandon that idea pretty quick. This fic covers the major instances in the Cold War. The next chapter involves Sputnik, and if I can squeeze it in, the Bay of Pigs. At any rate, how do you think I did? Drop me a line. **


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